


from your heart to your fingertips

by KataraYue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28406889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KataraYue/pseuds/KataraYue
Summary: Gently, tremendously slow, with the same love and care he puts into his sets, Atsumu traces the words.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Ojiro Aran
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70
Collections: Aran Ship Week 2020





	from your heart to your fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> i'm embarrassed at how cheesy this is, but i also think atsuaran deserves the sappiest love confession ever so

The outside world seems almost frozen in time, a thin layer of snow covering Osaka. Aran watches the snowflakes fall slowly on the window, reveling in the warmth of the kotatsu. For once, everything is calm around him—peaceful, even. Atsumu is lying next to him, and he’s been so quiet for the past few minutes that Aran would probably be worried if he wasn’t enjoying the silence so much.

“I’m bored,” Atsumu whines, and there goes Aran’s tranquility. “And I’m hungry.”

Atsumu is facing away from him, but Aran knows he’s probably pouting. “Osamu’s on his way, he’s got the food,” he says halfheartedly, hoping to go back to his peaceful winter evening. 

As soon as he sees Atsumu lazily sitting up, stretching his arms behind his head, he knows it’s not going to happen. His hair is ruffled from lying on the floor and his clothes are wrinkled as he rubs his eyes slowly. For now, everything is still quiet, but it’s only a matter of seconds before Atsumu fully emerges from his half conscious state and shatters Aran’s peace. Still, it makes him smile; a tired and calm Atsumu is a rare sight, but it’s one he cherishes dearly.

“But he’s late, I don’t wanna wait for him,” Atsumu complains, louder this time.

“We wait for ya when you’re late,” Aran raises an eyebrow at him, but Atsumu only shrugs, apparently not getting Aran’s point.

“I’m  _ bored,” _ he says again, this time looking at Aran. Something glows in his eyes and he grins brightly, scooting closer to where Aran is sitting. “Hey, Aran-kun, let’s play a game.”

It’s the atmosphere, Aran tells himself. It’s the warmth of the kotatsu and the delicate snow falling outside, the overall beauty of the night impacting his mood. It doesn’t have anything to do with Atsumu’s smile and the childlike wonder in his eyes every time he looks at him, the way he finds himself indulging him more and more often these days.

“What d’ya wanna do?”

When Atsumu’s face immediately lights up at his words, Aran thinks that going along with his antics more often isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Take your shirt off!” Atsumu says brightly, and Aran has never taken back a thought this fast in his life before.

“I’m leavin’,” he deadpans, unimpressed. He tries to get up, but Atsumu immediately grabs his arm and pulls him down again.

“Ya don’t hafta take everything off,” he yells in his ears, and, yes, that does sound more like Atsumu than the quiet man almost sleeping next to him a few minutes ago. “Just the sweater! I swear Aran-kun!”

“Why should I take  _ anything _ off?” Aran shouts back, still trying to get up. No matter how many times he swears he won’t get caught trying to rationalize the twins’ behaviour anymore, he does it again.

“‘Cause it’s easier that way!” Atsumu pulls him down one last time, harder, before Aran gives up the fight. This is far from the peaceful evening he wanted, but then again, maybe he shouldn’t have come to Atsumu for that.

“Whatever ya do, I’m sure you can do it with my clothes on,” he sighs. He thinks he should be more worried about the way Atsumu gets to make him give up so easily.

Apparently satisfied with his answer, Atsumu guides Aran’s body so he’s sitting with his back turned to Atsumu, tragically far from the warmth of the kotatsu. Suspicious, he looks over his shoulder to see Atsumu cracking his knuckles.

“Oh no,” Aran says, turning his torso to look at Atsumu better. “You’re not givin’ me a massage, I don’t trust ya not to break my back!” 

“Relax, I ain’t gonna break anything,” Atsumu’s hands position him again in his initial position. “And it’s not a massage, we’re playin’ a game.”

“What’s the game about?” Aran relents.

“It’s a game Bokkun taught me,” Atsumu’s hands are resting on his shoulders, powerful and strong, Aran has to force himself not to completely tune out Atsumu’s voice to focus on the feeling. A part of him is wildly embarrassed at the realization. “You just hafta write stuff with your finger on your partner’s back, and they guess it.”

Atsumu’s hands slip lower on his back, absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder blades. Aran is suddenly very thankful he didn’t let Atsumu take off his sweater, he’s not sure he could have acted unaffected with only his t-shirt separating him from Atsumu. “How would that even work?”

“Dunno, it just does.” Atsumu claps his hands on Aran’s shoulders a bit too firmly, making him wince. “Alright, I’ll write first!”

“S’not what I mean,” Aran turns completely to face Atsumu this time, massaging one of his shoulders. “Can ya read kanji when they’re written on your back like that? ‘Cause I sure as hell can’t.”

Atsumu opens and closes his mouth a few times, apparently searching for a comeback. When he doesn’t find anything, he frowns and shoves Aran’s shoulder playfully.

“Aran-kun!’ he whines loudly. “Why do ya always hafta ruin everything!”

“You’re the one who never thinks things through!” Aran says, easily responding to Atsumu’s dig. 

Atsumu only huffs and folds his arms. He falls silent for a few seconds, and Aran is ready to suggest to just drop the game, especially considering Osamu should be there any minute now. Before he can do that, he feels Atsumu’s hands on his shoulders again, this time while they’re facing each other.

“Alright, I know,” he declares almost solemnly “Let’s just write it in english!”

Aran arches a brow, skeptical. “Since when d’ya know how to speak english?”

_ “Aran-kun!” _

Aran rolls his eyes at Atsumu’s outrage. He takes Atsumu’s wrists in his hands to make him let go of his shoulders and says, “Turn around, I’m goin’ first.”

Atsumu mumbles something he doesn’t quite catch, but still does as he’s told. 

“Write something cool,” he says when Aran puts his finger on his back. Aran only shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips. He writes a word on Atsumu’s back, slow enough for him to feel the letters, but he doesn’t put much care in it either—he’s half convinced Osamu is gonna come in before Atsumu even has the time to guess it.  _ “T…” _ Atsumu starts to guess. Aran can’t see his face, but he knows his eyes must be closed and his face scrunched up in concentration. _ “T… Tree?” _ He says in english before turning around to look at Aran.  _ “Tree, _ that’s it?”

“Yeah,  _ tree.” _

“I said somethin' cool, Aran-kun.” Aran opens his mouth to retort that trees are cool, but even in his mind his attempt doesn’t sound very convincing. “My turn!” Atsumu says before he can think of anything better, and Aran obliges.

Maybe Aran finds himself indulging him too much at times, but he’s not a teenager anymore, and he’s not afraid to admit he misses having Atsumu close. He looks promptly at the door from where Osamu will come in at any moment, and he knows it’s not just Atsumu either. Since the day he met them at that one training camp, having the twins in his life has always been a given, and to this day, on the floor of Atsumu’s apartment, Aran knows this fact will never change. No matter what, these two annoying little boys he chose as his best friends all these years ago will always be part of him, and even though he wouldn’t change anything about their lives, more than happy to watch them do what they love the most in the world every day, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss seeing them more often.

Their highschool days were tiring, noisy and Aran clearly remembers never catching a break. He remembers getting annoyed at the twins, seeing them—Atsumu, really—laugh at him in return, promising himself he would stop getting involved in their antics but failing every time. He also remembers the long evenings spent chatting during training camps, Suna’s and Akagi’s laughter at Atsumu’s outrage every time he or Osamu told them a story from their childhood, he even remembers seeing Kita snicker a few times. He remembers the easiness between all of them, the banter and the love, the same way it had always existed between the twins and him.

He didn’t really realize, at the time, Atsumu’s place in his life. It took some distance for the realization to come slowly to him, that, maybe, he didn’t exactly love Atsumu and Osamu the same way anymore. It took seeing Atsumu on the court as the Black Jackals’ starting setter for the first time to realize how much he missed Atsumu setting for him, and how he had never loved him the same way he loves Osamu.

Aran snaps out of his memories when he feels the first brush of fingertips on his back. He expected Atsumu’s fingers to be rough, not delicate in the slightest, calloused hands digging into his muscles with too much strength. He expected him to be laughing and bragging about guessing Aran’s word right, his voice too loud right next to Aran’s ears. It would have been annoying, far from the peaceful evening Aran was trying to enjoy before Atsumu decided he wanted to play a game, but it was to be expected; Aran never asked for a world of peace when he chose to let Atsumu into his life.

Instead, Atsumu is quiet, incredibly so, and Aran senses hesitation in the first letter, but it slowly fades away, letting the words bloom beautifully on his fingertips. He’s assured in his movements and careful, precise and caring. Gently, tremendously slow, with the same love and care he puts into his sets, Atsumu traces the words. The moment seems frozen in time, and Aran wonders when, exactly, he’s looked away long enough for Atsumu to learn to give this kind of peace. It’s not the words, really, nor is it the touch itself, but something about the moment makes Aran feel incredibly cared for, and loved. There’s a warm fire burning inside of him, and Atsumu’s confident and loving hands are keeping it alive. 

It’s astounding, the way Aran has loved Atsumu for all these years, in so many different ways, but still manages to be surprised by him.

It takes an embarrassing amount of efforts for Aran to focus on the words, instead of the feeling they’re eliciting in him. He tries to forget about the warm fire in his stomach, growing steadily, a bit more with each stroke, and focuses on the game instead. There aren’t that many letters in Atsumu’s word, but Aran still feels like he’s starting to forget the first ones. It’d be embarrassing, he thinks, not being able to guess a single word because Atsumu’s fingers are too distracting.

As it turns out—when he finally manages to focus—it’s not a single word. Letters become words on his back, and Aran listens, feels. There’s an underlying meaning to every touch, something that tells Aran it’s not just a game anymore, not with the care Atsumu puts in it. He listens, until finally, the words find their meaning.

Realization doesn’t crash over him. It comes slowly, carefully, unhurried in a way that shouldn’t make sense, because he’s talking about Atsumu, and Atsumu never does anything leisurely. It sinks into his heart warmly when Atsumu traces the last letter. His hand lingers just a bit too long on his back before pulling away, and Aran feels the corner of his mouth quirk up.

He doesn’t hide his smile when he turns to face Atsumu, trying not to disturb the quietness around them. Atsumu is looking back at him, all pink-dusted cheeks and gleeful eyes; the sight makes Aran’s heart soar.

“So?” he asks, not really looking away but not daring to look directly into Aran’s eyes either. He’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt and it makes Aran’s smile soften a bit more. 

_ “I love you?” _ he asks, but everything about Atsumu, from the care on his fingertips to the glint in his eyes, already tells him everything he wants to know. Atsumu nods regardless. “You’re so corny,” Aran snorts, tenderness pulling relentlessly at his heart.

_ “Aran-kun!” _ Atsumu drags out his name. He flops down on the floor next to him, gripping at his sweatpants dramatically while his head rests near his thighs. “Say somethin’!” he whines, and Aran can’t help but let out a laugh of his own.

“You’re corny,” he repeats, still laughing. Emboldened by Atsumu’s reaction, he guides Atsumu’s head out of his lap, cupping his face with both hands. “And dramatic,” he adds, looking directly into Atsumu’s eyes. He takes a few seconds to take him in, ruffled hair and pinks cheeks, hopeful eyes and parted lips looking up at him. Slowly, he strokes the skin with his thumb, and asks, “Can I kiss ya?”

Almost imperceptibly, Atsumu nods, and Aran feels the movement more than he sees it. He leans down and closes the gap between them, finally tasting Atsumu’s lips on his own.

It’s uncomfortable to say the least, Aran bent down in half to reach Atsumu, still lying on his stomach in a position that can only put a strain on his neck, but Atsumu’s hands are gripping his thighs and he’s kissing Aran like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do for years, so he doesn’t really mind.

In all fairness, Aran has wanted to kiss Atsumu for a long time too.

Aran feels one of Atsumu’s hands leave his thigh to make its way on his chest. It lingers there for a moment as Atsumu slowly pulls away from the kiss. He opens his eyes and looks up at Aran like he’s not quite believing it’s happening. Aran opens his mouth to say something, but before he can do it, Atsumu’s hand is tugging hard at his sweater, yanking him down in the process. He doesn’t really register how it happens, but in a few movements, Atsumu has him on his back, and he’s lying on top of him, kissing him again. 

It only lasts a few seconds before Atsumu sits up, straddling his hips. Unconsciously, Aran chases his lips, sitting up as well, and when he opens his eyes, Atsumu is smiling cheekily at him. 

“Eager?” he asks, his voice way too giddy with excitement for Aran to tell him off.

Instead, he huffs and shifts so he’s leaning against the couch, Atsumu sitting in his lap. He puts his hands on his hips, while Atsumu’s are resting around his neck, long and caring fingers leaving feather-light touches on his skin, ever so lovingly. Eyes locked on him, Atsumu leans down slightly to rest his forehead against Aran’s, a small and tender smile on his lips.

Aran inhales quietly, centimeters away from Atsumu’s lips, and, without ever taking his eyes away from him, says, “I—”

The door bursts open loudly, making Atsumu screech in his lap.

“Sorry, I’m la—Oh shit. Congrats,” Osamu says, unhelpfully. “I can leave if ya want.”

_ “Yes,” _ Atsumu bites out, glaring at his brother.

Aran smacks him lightly on the thigh, frowning at him. “No, stay,” he tells Osamu, already halfway through the door.

“Aran-kun!” Atsumu whines in his ears.

“Ya said ya were hungry, and he’s got the food.”

“Go outside,” Atsumu says, once again looking at Osamu, “Aran-kun was gonna say somethin’. And leave me the food!”

“I’ll tell ya later, dumbass,” Aran shakes his head. He’s glad to see Osamu has already stopped caring about Atsumu’s complaints and is making his way inside, removing his shoes before dropping an Onigiri Miya bag in front of them.

It at least makes Atsumu stop complaining for a while. Aran tries to remove him from his lap to help Osamu set up their movie night, but even when he manages to make Atsumu let go of his neck, he sneaks his arms around his waist, squeezing tightly, his face pressed against Aran’s chest.

“‘M not lettin’ go,” he says, pointedly looking at the black TV screen.

“S’okay,” Osamu says before Aran can insist on getting Atsumu to move. “I’ve got it.” Atsumu hums contentedly when Osamu turns the TV on and sets up their dinner. He flops down on the floor next to Aran, his back against the couch and hands Atsumu the remote without even looking at him. “‘Tsumu, your turn to choose.”

“My arms are busy.”

“Stop clingin’ to him and choose the movie,” Osamu urges him, dangling the remote in front of him.

“Ya were late,” Atsumu shifts to glare at his brother without letting Aran go. “Ya can’t complain.”

“You should thank me for bein’ late!”

“Alright,” Aran sighs, taking the remote away from Osamu. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re already takin’ his side, Aran-kun,” he teases, a knowing smile on his lips.

“‘M not—”

“Of course he is!” Atsumu interrupts him, already back to bickering with Osamu.

Aran sighs, and silently chooses the movie, he has a lot of practice with ignoring the twins arguing loudly in his ears. Finally, when he settles for an old movie they all love but already saw many times before, they stop talking to focus on the TV. Aran’s arm finds its place around Atsumu’s shoulders, his hand drawing abstract patterns on his arm.

It all fits in, Aran notices. Atsumu clinging to him, Osamu being already used to their new proximity, having both of the twins by his side, but having Atsumu close in such a different way. It all fits in in a way that should feel new and exhilarating, but feels comforting and warm instead.

Aran never asked for a world of peace when he chose to let Atsumu into his life, but he welcomes the comfort, and the infinite amount of love Atsumu brings with him wherever he goes.

Slowly, deliberately, without looking away from the screen, Aran applies a bit more pressure on Atsumu’s arm, and traces the words. He tries to convey all the love he’s feeling into the touch, delicately writing each letter, until they’re all spread out on Atsumu’s skin, for him only to feel. 

_ I love you too, _ he writes, and when, from the corner of his eye, he sees Atsumu’s blinding smile, he feels like he’s exactly where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, and if you want to see me cry over atsuaran every two days, i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/martialarcs) and you can always come scream with me ❤


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